Iria watched as her coven leader moved before her, she could sense there was a slight thrill of excitement under his words but as she listened everything seemed to be so matter-of-fact. Still as he spoke she found herself riveted, hanging on to every word that he said. Iria liked to play games, she especially liked to play games that caused other people turmoil. It was the nature of who she was. Her hands clasped and unclasped a million times as she waited for his final words to be spoken. She practically jumped towards the man in eagerness when it was time for her to speak. Iria had been deprived of interaction with people like her for so long that the idea of working in tandem thrilled her.

“Agony.” She wanted to say a thousand things more but it was the only thing that came from her lips. Her throat now dry and scratchy from the building thirst.

"I'm so sorry you don't have better things to do than to beat up a woman and then throw cash at her when you're feeling guilty." She takes the dollar out of her pocket and tucks it into his loose pants. "Maybe you should wear a belt and then people wouldn't feel like a quick grab into your pockets was easy. A fanny pack perhaps? Thanks though, for all your charitable generosity."

Hell in a handbasket. +stares+ You are the one that seemed surprised that there was a price, guess we're going with stupid then. Besides, assumptions are made based upon past interactions. Not my fault ninety-nine percent of all people I meet are stupid.

Autumn sat up abruptly. More staring, mind racing furiously. She'd been in London last night. Did that mean her body was in Jerusalem, too, by a weird twist of fate? Could she use Jameson to find it? Her senses were quite dulled now, compared to his.

Even if he did, how would she find him?

Details.

Jameson
You know how to flatter a woman so well.
Think you can find me?

Jameson
Almost completely irrelevant... but someone every now and then returns...
Do you think garbage can get lonely?
I mean, no one wants to be around garbage. No one wants to be anywhere near garbage, really.
Maybe garbage is just insecure.

Noura catches the wallet easily, flipping it open to look inside before slipping it into her own pocket. "Interesting. Okay. You got it." She grins, giving her elder brother some adorable little wave before disappearing.

Upon her return, she would leave on his desk a pile of receipts for various stores. The items listed would be everything from tactical wear to actual normal people clothes (read: shorts and t-shirts and all things sports bra). And, weighing down this pile would be a small, black bag with his something interesting.

Aurelia held out her hand for the phone, not looking up from the laptop in her lap. She pushed her glasses up her nose and tipped her head to look up at him.
"Give me an hour and you'll have everything that has ever passed through this phone."

~Ella turns to face James with a bemused expression, ‘’Whom are we talking about?’’ She honestly has no idea. Did he mean Giddy? Because absolutely not. That would force her Lufcuh away and she couldn’t have that. She stands from her chair walking over to squat in front of the sofa, her head curiously canted to the side. ‘’I’ve seen more pledges enter the basement lately. That’s good’’ She concluded. After all they were a sort of harmonious team. ~

Sarah stood in front of the man, arms folded with the scalpel twirling between her fingers. This wasn't how she planned things, but when someone murders both your children. Certain measures must be taken. All the toys in her dungeon were released into the realm, and who knew what that meant. Skittish transients. Demented serial killers. The possibilities were endless. Because the toys in her dungeon lacked the soul they needed to live their mundane lives productively.

"Da." The reply made her devilish lips tug into a disturbing smirk. Oh, the things she could do in a dungeon were magical.

She remembered the man in front of her vaguely. He has made a transition since she lost herself into her work. Now he was on the right side of the war.

"I hope you like the sounds of tortured screams and the smell of anxious perspiration."

She has no idea what he is talking about. Quinn listens, fidgeting with the bag in her hands. Distrust is written all over her, and she cannot help but feel a ration of fear overcome her. Still, she keeps it up, stepping forward to block the way to the basement with her body. It's a gentle, unassuming movement. Not meant to be threatening but clearly also something of a statement.

"I don't know who you are," she murmurs. There is no way he belongs here. Ella would have said something. "No one goes in the basement. It's a rule."

One more sidestep, and the knob to the door is at her back. She does not recognize him, partly because she had never been moved to know him.

She went to the house for some sugar. Quinn wanted nothing more than warm, sweet cup of coffee. It is simply one of those days. Fall is just around the corner, and while New Orleans is miles away from the climate of the Northeast, she would still enjoy the finer things that came with the season.

She rounds the corner, a constant smile upon her face, when she sees him. He creeps toward the basement door, and Quinn swears he looks just as unwell as she feels when she sees the man. A stranger, in their home. Forcibly brave, she pipes up. Quinn is terrified of the man, and she simply does not know why.

Mackenzie sat upon the roof of the building opposite Jameson's chosen hiding place. The girl had kept her watch on him, curious to see what he would do. He did not disappoint. First, his sister showed up. Then, another man. And there he was, her little creation, struggling. She loves it. Catching sight of him through the undressed window, the girl smirks.

Noura flinched when she felt his body recoil, her body tense as she prepares for the worst. Even as he reciprocates, she cannot relax. Jason is coming, she reminds herself. And he will know what to do. Or at least, have a better idea than she has. For now, she waits. I'm sorry, he says. But for what?

Her arms fall as he pulls away, hands finding their way to his elbows as he holds her face. Her darker eyes stare up, meeting his, and she wills herself to remain calm and strong. It's the grin that worries her.

She remembers this stage. It was like being a teenager, indestructible and immortal. It was the stage she'd been in when Cole came to her, and it was this very youth that took his life. "Maybe we should talk about Moscow before that, Jameson..."

She trails off, hands moving upward to the middle of his forearms. He is so cold. Looking him over, she lets out an almost silent groan. Going home would be bad. People would die. He must remember that. "Tell me everything."

She'd barely gotten inside before that familiar smell reached her. Without a second thought, she pulls out her phone, fingers quickly pressing into the screen before she lowers her hands.

Noura had found that those like herself smell like the predecessor. Cole smells slightly of her, she smells slightly of her maker, and so on. Jameson smells different. He smells dead, and she cannot quite pin the root. "What did you do."

This isn't a question. It is a demand. Noura cannot fathom what she is seeing and smelling. It's clear what has happened to him. It is the how that is the issue. Biting her lip, she strides forward to her big brother and throws her arms around him. She realizes now this is the first time she has shown him affection since she walked back into his life months and months ago.

Noura reads the text once, then twice. She knows this trick. She knows the sender, even without a name. Nou. That means Jameson. New York City. That means trouble. Then again, that isn't so much of a stretch. But she doesn't want to leave Moscow. Not even a little bit. She wants to stay near her rock.

She has no choice.

Several flights, a taxi ride, and a short, brisk walk later, Noura finds herself standing in the exact location she'd been sent.

*1 new voicemail*
'Your phone is dead. I know that. I don't know if you'll ever hear this......Come home, Jameson. I'm not strong enough to do this on my own. I'm not interested in raising this child without you......Please come home, babe. I did some things. Things I'm not proud of......I love you. I will always love you. Please don't blame me for what I have to do......Come home before it's too late. Please.

If he could see her, he'd be greeted with a look of disdain. Is he serious? She cannot understand his inability to open the goddamn door. She bites her tongue, glancing sideways as she gathers herself. Noura just wants in. There would be no way she would ever have this conversation like this.

-furrows brow-Listen, I think I know what a booty call is. I just got the definition fifteen minutes ago from the Internet. And the internet never lies.
-clears throat, looks around-
...groceries? Are you food-flirting with me?!

It took no time at all to recognize the flat tone of her brothers voice. She's not in trouble. At least, she doesn't think so. Otherwise he would have went right into it. There is something else going on, and it has Noura chomping at the bit.

She gets dressed. She'd been out all night, and had gotten ready for a lovely sleep. But when her big brother calls, she answers. Within minutes, booted feet carry her through the Order and small hands push open the doors to his office.

A late night knock on the door and one last package to accompany it. It's still Christmas so technically counts. The label indicates Jameson and Elouise's names.

Inside the plain 'shipping' box, there is a smaller, neatly wrapped gift. A hand written tag is attached to it, which reads:

To: Two Unlikely Friends
From: A Mutual Friend

Thank you both for your hospitality. I've enjoyed my time in Moscow and the opportunity to get to know you. You are welcome to come for a visit any time. Congratulations again. Here's a little something to get you started. Merry Christmas.

Elouise loved Christmas. It was never about the exchanging of presents. In fact, she couldn’t remember a single Christmas worth remembering before today. But it was the holiday – the many things it meant, and it always held the promise of something she knew she would have one day.

A family.
And Jameson was more than she could have ever hoped for.

She had spent many years waiting for the Christmas morning she could wake up and shower someone in presents. Thoughtful gifts. Lavish packaging. Ribbons and bows and wrapping paper. She may have gone a little overboard as well. Instead of answering, the sound of wrapping paper scraping the floor sounds. A few stacks of boxes collapse through the doorway, followed by his wife, clad in her Santa-themed PJs. “Merry Christmas, handsome.” Her mouth splits in a toothy grin, childish amusement alight in her blue eyes.

Using slippered feet, she kicks a few smaller boxes closer to him, several more in her arms. Beautiful ties, scarves, hats and gloves, even a new pair of shoes. However, Elouise put the most thought into the final gift he would open. A scrapbook, filled with pictures of the two of them, no detail spared in the decorations. He might even begin to wonder how she ever got her hands on some of the pictures she’d included, but, she would never admit to a source.

Maybe she had entirely too much time on her hands, but it really boiled down to the one simple fact. She loved this man, and she wanted to give him a gift full of sentiments.

Once all of his boxes were in order, she promptly pauses, turns towards him, and leaps at him. Arms wrung around his neck, she presses a kiss to his neck. “I love you.” A quiet whisper, spoken with evident meaning. The holidays were never about presents, but about company. And she knew how lucky she was to have him.

As he sits down beside her, she sucks in a deep breath. She isn’t ready for doubt. In fact, if it came from him, Elouise wouldn’t know how to handle it. She was already panicking in her own way, second guessing her capabilities.

Is this real? You really are?

The blonde begins to voice a response, but she’s pinned back to the floor, one heavy, ecstatic husband weighing her down. At his reaction, her uncertainty washes away. With Jameson, she knew she could handle anything. Even a tiny Satan inhabiting her uterus for nine months.

“Jameson. Can’t. Breathe.” She huffs, hands prodding his sides for emphasis. After so much languishing, she finally sighs, offering her husband a small, yet nevertheless genuine smile. “A baby.” She whispers the last word as if they’ve just discovered a long-lost, hidden treasure.

Strewn out on the carpet, the Doctor’s wife waits patiently for him to return. Normally, she would continue to bombard him with messages until he gained a sense of urgency, but she wasn’t in a rush at the current moment. Instead, dull blue eyes focus on the ceiling fan, phone in one hand, an obscured object in the other.

As he enters, she gives him a gentle kick with her sock. “Down here.” She props herself up on her elbows, an unreadable expression worn. “You might want to sit down.” As Elouise speaks, she is pulling her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them. “…because I have to tell you something.”

Her hand shoots out, revealing the pregnancy test that rested in her hand. The word, printed clearly on the screen was then uncovered. Pregnant.

A blue eye cracks open, finding the alarm clock with blurred ambition. She lets out a groan, knowing it was too damn early to be functioning. Why had she woken up?

This. This was why. Bare feet scramble for the bathroom, soon level with her knees as she heaves the contents of last night’s dinner into the porcelain throne. Cheerios and Cheez-Its. Why had she drank so much the night prior? It was rare she was ever so sick when hungover.

And that would all make sense, if she had had even a drop of alcohol. Realization hits Elouise like a bus. No, it had to be food poisoning. It was absolutely too soon for this to be happening. Or, was it? That one time, a few weeks ago, the scotch…

Sh*t. This wasn’t anything definitive. The blonde wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree, but she was smart enough to know there were any number of reasonable explanations for nausea.

Until, of course, those reasonable explanations got shot out of a f*cking cannon into space. Staring at the blank screen of her phone, she opens her husband’s contact, typing and retyping the eventual message:

Jameson
I know you’re at the lab already, but I need you to come back. Please.
No pranks, I promise.

Placing the final sticky lace against the canvas, Elouise steps back to admire her handy work. Every solitary shoelace in their room belonging to him was now pasted to the easel in front of her, covered in glue and glitter. His shoes were lined in neatly in front of their bed, each filled to the brim with shaving cream.

His ties were stapled to the ceiling, hanging down in glorious, colorful banners. His pillowcase was stuffed with potato chips, and his socks were filled with baby powder. And the pièce de résistance? Tomato sauce in all of the cleaning supply bottles. Finished with her work, she digs out her phone.

“You're my whole life.” She inhales a shaky breath, fingers fidgeting with her wedding band once more. She was fearful, threatened. He was her home, and Noura could rock the foundation very easily. “Little faith? Don't you get it, by now?” The blonde runs a hand through her hair, brushing back the wild curls.

“I'm always going to be the more loving one, Jameson. And that is going to make me fanatical. I'm not like you. I'm not slow to anger. I don't know how to handle…” Life. That's why she did what she did. The more dulled her senses, the easier it seemed to handle things. But seeing as how the night prior had gone, she needed new coping methods.

She clears her throat, a petite, manicured hand reaching out for him, resting against the fabric of his shirt if he allowed. “I'm here for you. I always will be. Noura isn't going to change that.”

There she was minding her own business when she felt unwelcomed hands upon her person. With a hiss she turned just in time to see the culprit before he could make his getaway but this wasn’t a stranger and she knew that face. It didn’t take long for her to seek him out, chasing after him until she finally caught up to him. However instead of touching him she merely let her look of disdain do a majority of the talking though she did speak.

”If you needed booze money all you had to do was ask. Then again in my current state I’m not so sure that wouldn’t come without a risk of infection. Better think twice before you try such a daring feat again.”

*screams**throws remote at* OHMYGAWD IM BEING ROBBED HELP HELP! 911! ...............shifty eyes*...ohai Jameson. It's in the fridge with Ellie's cake she made. Can you be a dear and bring her back that one too?

-big smile-Ooookay, I finish the story.
-deep breath-
Elouise didn't trust anybody but Jameson kept saving her.
And then she finally noticed his cute butt and gave him a shot
She realized brown hair was okay and then he kissed her and even evil Emerson couldn't change her mind about him.
So she shared her movie time and pillows and blankets and snuggles. And she loved him forever and ever, and was really glad it only took him like five months to realize what a total catch she was.
-big kiss-
Okay, ice cream! I want lotsa whipped cream.
... and I'll pay.

A grin tugs at her lips as she leans over, resting her chin on his shoulder as she gazes up at him. "Does this mean we get to go shopping?" Her mouth forms an 'o' of wonderment. "More blankets, and pillows and beanbags." She flashes her teeth in an even wider smile.

"Details? Tellmetellmetellmetellme!" The blonde shifts closer, arms snaking around his midsection. "...can we get a lava lamp?!"

Elouise doesn’t seem to be too disgruntled by being thrown onto the bed. Mostly because he was ordering her food, but also because of those four words that meant so much. After he hangs the phone up, she scoots to the edge of the bed.

“Maybe we should move into a bigger room, and just have some of your stuff, and some of mine. Except it would be ours. No more your room or my room.” Compromise, she was trying.

Elouise takes on an expression of mock offense. “What if I just want to be sweet?” She huffs, now seemingly actually offended. But then she lowers her head, resting it in the crook of his neck, and she appears to calm back down.

“That works out in my favor though, because I tell people you beat me so they’ll pity me and give me what I want.” She looks around with shifty eyes. “Please don’t hit me again, Jameson, I’ll make sure dinner is ready at five-thirty sharp from now on!” She states, projecting her voice with exaggeration. Afterwards, she lets out a devious little snicker.

She taps her chin. "...Chinese?" A big smile prevails, before she leans in. A hand reached up, squishing his cheeks together before she plants a brief kiss on his lips. "Or tacos again. I went for a run today, I earned it."

Elouise meets his gaze, brow furrowed. "And yes, I did actually run." Falling silent again, she rubs her nose against his, an Eskimo kiss. "I sorta, kinda, maybe love you... now, food. Yes, you have to carry me, and yes you have to feed me. Don't act like you make the rules."

The blonde presses a grin against his chest, nodding shortly thereafter. "Shepard's Pie sounds good... just not made of me." With a quiet laugh, she presses her chin against him and tilts her head back to look up at him.

"How about you go and find your glasses, and I'll show you how sorry I am?" She pauses, sniffs him, and realizes he may be just too intoxicated. "Or we'll save that for tomorrow." She gives him a consoling pat. "Wouldn't want you to forget, because I'm a one night only show."

Elouise stands in the room long after he had left, blank blue eyes focused upon his loving creation. The teasing had started out in absolute innocence. And she had assumed he knew her tactics. Never had she considered he may have been hurt, especially until this very day, parenthood had been a joke. Flat children, zombie children, all a game.

Padding over to the hand-carved bassinet, she ran her hands over the frame, before sinking down beside it, head pressed against it as she eased herself into the thought that he might not come back.

And if he did come back, would he still want her? Procuring her phone, she went to check his location, but discovered for whatever reason, his signal did not come through. Crossing her legs, she lets out a sigh.

“You’re pretty too.” She snickers, looking at his pathetic expression, eyes rolling. She ignores him long enough to fill the pot with water and turn the burner back on, before she glides into him, hitting him with minimal force. Her arms wrap around his midsection, and soon enough she’s granting him a brief kiss.

“Now, I’m going to let you in on a little secret, darling, don’t be alarmed.” Hazy, reddened eyes met his. “You’re high. I didn’t poison you, neither did Camille. Those brownies were never meant for general consumption.”

She nuzzles her face against his chest, finding the texture of his shirt undeniably comfortable. Shewashighokay. “I’m glad I married you toooo,” she coos, squeezing him a big tighter then. “Food. Now I need food.” And she’s detached from him, flying towards the cabinets with intent. And the woman knows exactly what she’s looking for. Tucked behind a box of cornflakes…

Voilà! Double chocolate chip cookies, soft baked. She carries the packaged tray over, setting it on the counter before him. It was the Holy Grail of munchie foods. And the good wife she was, she offered them to him.

The app carried her from her room through the maze of hallways. He was on the move, then the signal ended in…

The kitchen.

Perfect, since she was starving herself. Her tongue jutted out to wet her lips, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth was then. Her cheeks sucked in and puffed out as she shuffled along, dressed in… his Superman onesie. No wonder the legs and sleeves were much too long.

She entered the kitchen to find Jameson attempting to cook. “Babe,” she scoffed, lurching over to the stove to shut it off.

It appeared to her that he was trying to boil pasta for mac ‘n cheese, but there was no water in the pot. “Go sit down before you hurt yourself… I’ll make the munchies.” A smirk was plastered to her face, one that failed to go away in his presence. It was beyond her to see him in such a state.

Closed into her room for some much needed respite, Elouise sat on her floor, stereo blaring… Coldplay? Oh, Elouise. So many better choices to be made.

She had left Jameson in his bed, or so she had thought. The poor, poor lightweight. Of course the blonde was up to her usual afternoon antics. Mimosa, marijuana, mood music. In the silence between songs, a melodic tone carries through the silence – and the smoke.

Her voicemail.

Scrambling through the wafting clouds of gray, pungent smoke, she discovers her phone, discarded near her bed, and a half-eaten bag of Fritos. She crawls over to pause the music, the interlude having led into… Marvin Gaye? The woman needed better playlists.

After listening to the playback and having a side-aching laugh, she stumbles to her feet. Where was this man of hers?

Her brow furrows as she focuses intently on the screen, making sure her text was precise enough.

You can’t just kiss a girl and run off. Some might call that rude. Also, I take it this means you have no interest in being a bridesmaid in Emerson and I’s wedding. And I’m not a cheater, so, it appears that may have been our last kiss. Have a fun night!

Her eyes begged an unanswerable question. The idea of trust, so foreign, had stayed deep within her. Yet, here she was. Elouise’s subconscious was screaming, but her voice was drowned away as he offered a rather appropriate response. For once, her world was quiet. And she folded into the silence, pliant to his touch, too beholden of him at that very moment to offer a witty rebuttal.

Her hands fall slowly from his shoulders, instead slipping into his jacket, lacing around his figure. He was a comfort she had been far too remiss in admitting to herself. It was odd to her then, that hands that were so familiarly rough carried such gentle capacity, drawing her near and holding her without force. Of course, she could have objected. He had left plenty of time for that. She was akin to a frightened doe, and he seemed to sense that. It was unfamiliar terrain, but he traversed it well. Simply put, she was unafraid.

Elouise returns in equal measure, a brief, responsive kiss, though it held no surprise in it. She was not bewildered any longer. He felt as familiar to her as ever. Trust no longer felt so foreign, even if it was not quite seeping through her visage, it was budding. She, of course, drew her head back first, a glimmer in her eyes as she met his gaze.

Proximity. She freezes as his face meets hers, unsure of how she should react. For once, she knew crassness was not a proper, nor positive response. And then he called her a potato.

“Shut up…” She closes her eyes, head dipping so that her brow leaned against his cheek. A sigh left her lips, for the first time, she realized she was still breathing. And she still had her jugular. “Patata…” She murmured against his neck, a quiet laugh following.

Elouise would pull her head back then, meeting his gaze, though it appeared as if she had stopped breathing again. She’d need to work on that.

“… so maybe I am a sour patch kid. If you’re a chocolate bar, it’s Chunky.” She snorts, rolling her eyes. “You are incredibly… resistable.” She drops her hand, eyes narrowing at him.

Elouise leans in closely, her fingers trailing up his chest as she met his gaze. “Actually, I take that back. There are certainly parts of you that I cannot resist…” She whispered, before her eyes lit up and she drew back, chocolate bar successfully thefted.

She gasps, before a big grin grows. “Aw, you’re almost on one knee, too!” She nods and nods and nods, before offering her left hand, waving it in his face.

“You don’t need to ask, the answer is yes, I will sue you for more alimony.” She rolled her eyes after the statement. “Green apple is beautiful, tasteful, elegant, and underrated. Who wants blue raspberry when that’s what everyone else has?”

And just as soon as she had control, it was lost. Flipped back to her previous position on her back, she looks up at him with big, innocent eyes. Her, doing something wrong? Impossible. With a nervous laugh, she squirms a bit before she realizes there is no escape.

She sucks in a deep breath, compromising her better judgement. “I’m sorry…” She lowers her voice. “… do I still get the ring pop?”

She lets out a soft laugh, her bright blue eyes darting side to side, mimicking his sudden look of... unease? Trying to keep things light, and unable to *NOT* tease...she takes a long exaggerated inhale, her nose twitching as she whispers in a low tone.

"Sorry, the taco was a dead give-away, might I suggest a different cologne?"

“Two bunny ears…” Her tongue jutted out from the side of her mouth in concentration until the bush rustled.

Her head shot up, locking onto Jameson’s camouflaged figure as it appeared before her. Her eyes widened, and she began to back pedal. Or, she thought she did. Still crouched down, the movement only landed her flat on her behind.

“So we do, Mister Orlav.” Defeat dampened her eyes as she looked his water pistol straight on. Whatever was in there, it probably wasn’t good. She only prayed it wasn’t urine.

As the orange-water mixture rained down upon her, she opened her mouth to gasp – sputtering as the juice obviously infiltrated. “You used Caitlyn’s orange juice for this?! You’re despicable!”

Sufficiently soaked, she stood up, wiping the sticky juice from her face. “You have won the battle, Jameson. But not the war.” It was a heavy-laden threat. After all, the limits to her tom-foolery and pranking had not yet been seen.

The Troublemaker walked merrily along, without a care in the world. Or, at least that was the impression she gave to the unassuming eye. Instead, her eyes scanned the area carefully, as they always did. But, today seemed void of shenanigans. She had made promises, after all.
Tomorrow would be the day he felt doom. But today was Zumba day, and she was exhausted. Camille really knew how to kick @ss.
With a glance down, she noticed her shoe was untied. With a long sigh, she leaned over to tie it back up.
“One bunny ear…”

My tiny female mind is telling me your teasing, but I can't think of a better, or more lethal combination that those three things.
-cants head to the side-
You're like a... jellyfish, wrapped in a soft taco, wrapped in a leather jacket.

Arggg are we ready tacos? Who lives in a room of no tacos?Jameson Squirtpants!Who's the worst doctor who ever lived?Jameson Squirtpants!Absentminded and tan and pompous is he!Jameson Squirtpants!If utter nonsense is what you wish!Jameson Squirtpants!He flops on the deck and smells like a fish!Jameson Squirtpants! Jameson Squirtpants! Jameson Squirtpants!

After the word got out about her stolen beloved oranges. She checked anxiously every nook and cranny for them. Currently, hunched over a couch and shifted the couch cushions on the ground. A defeated sigh passed her lips and then she heard the voice behind her.

'Well,well,well.'

She stood up to her full height and whirled around to witness the camouflaged plebeian. Her eyes blinked rapidly at Jameson unsure what had transpired. Did she miss a costume invite? Was she in the middle of a game?

'Finally we meet.'

Caitlyn cleared her throat as her eyes gave him a quick once over. "Umm but we know each other, silly goose." A nervous chuckle parted her lips. Did Jameson have a twin?! Oh this could be exciting! Oh...maybe he got pummeled in the head by a pigeon?

'T'was I who took your precious oranges, and it is I who shall reign supreme over the citric kingdom!!'

The spark of electricity jolted against her spine, and she grabbed the nearest couch cushion for a makeshift shield."Come again from taco man?"The small bit of humanity giving him a chance to take back what he said. Silently she vowed never to miss a taco Tuesday. Apparently this is the result of a taco Doctor missing too many taco Tuesdays . A crazed lunatic with cringeworthy fashion taste. Her right eye twitched involuntarily as she witnessed the waste of juice from his guns. She hated guns.

Then suddenly....

She heard a shrieking crazy lady. What the hell was going on?! Oh, wait that shrieking lady was her. The high pitched shrill battle cry of the orange keeper.

When she finally noticed the cry was from her, she had already bounded toward him intent on tackling him to the ground.

She got hit with orange drizzle from the water guns. Even while in a dramatic race towards him, she took the time to place the upper collar of her dress into her mouth to suck the drop of juice out of it. While the couch cushion took most of the citrus injuries for cinematic purposes.

...Did she just feel someone's hand in her pocket? Her brows met in a curious scrunch, as she pulled out a wad of notes from her pocket. Money on you:$11,423.00After standing there for several minutes, her weight shifts to her left hip. Her brows return to normal, and her mouth drops open."I can't believe someone would take 10 cents! I mean.." Her eyes blink rapidly, as she starts to recount. Was she only off by 10 cents? Maybe they had stolen a whole fifty!

After a considerable amount of time, she resurfaced. Ten boxes of pizza hid her face entirely. She used some small little slit between box four and five to see which way she was going. She was fully prepared for ANYTHING, except if he wanted something weird like anchovies or a taco pizza. "I bring you pizza! I er.. left kind of suddenly so I got random toppings?" All the while she whispered spastic in her mind -Please don't kill me. Please.don'tkill.me. Pleasedon'tkillme.-

The awkward laughter ended with a long drawn out heh. She shrank into an odd crab stance. Of all the times, why today did she carry an invisible pizza to the taco man? Sense seemed to be eluding her, like she would be eluding him soon. "I-I-I.Er.. I-I'm very sorry! Do over! Yes, do over!" With that she clicked her heel, and braced herself to flail run back to the pizza place.